It was the crowned queen of mountains in her robes of shining white. She was obliged, as she explained continually to every one who cared to listen, to be so very particular. Was there no echo anywhere in Miss Stanley’s pacified brain? Those empty rooms, if they were empty, were the equivalents of astoundingly decorated predecessors. He was struck disagreeably by Ramage’s air of gallant consideration and Ann Veronica’s self-possessed answers. All through that brief but measureless space of time during which wonder kept him silent, as fear did her, she cowered there, a limp helpless object.
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